Past Imperfect
by Loafer
Summary: Lassiter & O'Hara go out of town to work on a puzzling case, and meet up with the past. Sort of kind of halfway pre-Lassiet-ish. A little.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer** : the usual boring boring not mine boring the usual

 **Rating** : T

 **Summary** : Lassiter & O'Hara go out of town to work on a puzzling case, and meet up with the past. Story suggestion by **ace888** , so send blame that way.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

It was a confusing set of cases—they were sure it was the same guy, but he alternated between home break-ins and business burglaries. He always worked at night, seemed to work alone, and they'd never caught more than shadows on surveillance video.

It was those shadows, in part, which convinced Juliet and Carlton it was the same perp for each case. He seemed to know exactly where the cameras were, moved quickest when he was in their reach, and took his time elsewhere in each location. And he limped, favoring his right leg. It wasn't a serious limp, but it was definitely a limp, and all studies of all the available video footage showed it.

But the real reason they were sure was his pattern. On Tuesdays, he burgled homes. On Thursdays, businesses.

However, that was the _only_ pattern, significant as it seemed, and it wasn't as much to go on as it should have been: the homes were in different neighborhoods, with owners of differing wealth; the businesses were anything from liquor stores to tech shops to florists. He took money, merchandise, sometimes clothing or food. Even the distances between each location were such that they couldn't—yet—predict where he might strike again. He took a week off between each round.

Juliet looked up from her computer, "Carlton," she said loudly enough to get his attention over at his desk. "There's a similar set of break-ins up in San Luis Opisbo."

He looked up to give her an exasperated glare. "That's not even sensible."

She laughed. "Come on, it's less than two hours from here. He could do it."

"You're reaching. This guy is local." He frowned. "Probably."

"Right, _probably_."

"Okay, whatcha got?" He came over to her desk and pulled the wooden chair around to see her screen.

"Well, nothing about a limp, but the same _pattern_. And so far, all the cases I've checked have taken place during the weeks he doesn't work _here_."

Carlton smiled approvingly as she pointed out dates and times. "Who's the lead detective?"

"I already have an email to him in progress," she said with satisfaction, and he smirked before returning to his desk.

By the end of the day, she'd made contact with Detective Greg Volakis of the SLOPD, which she thought was kind of a comical acronym, but at least even "slop-d" was easier to say than "SPBD". She was still sure she'd one day yell out "SDPB!" or "SPDB!" or "TCBY!" and be met with confused stares by whomever she was trying to arrest.

Volakis wanted to meet to discuss the cases in more detail, but asked her to come to San Luis Obispo. He pointed out that the earliest break-ins assumed to be by their perp were in SLOPD territory, so they had dibs.

Chief Vick approved the field trip, in part because the shadowy thief had recently burgled a business operated by the son of one of the mayor's aides. "It's a tenuous reason to amp up an investigation," she said dryly, "but any future support from City Hall is good support."

"Besides," Carlton pointed out, "the guy's hit here fourteen times already and we need to _find_ the son of a…" he trailed off at their expectant expressions. "…banana-eater."

Juliet knew her eyebrows were as high as Chief Vick's.

"It's what my little sister used to say when she was afraid to curse in front of Ma," he explained. "Anyway, we hit the road tomorrow. O'Hara, set it up!"

She talked to Volakis again, agreeing she'd arrive with her partner and access to SBPD casefiles at ten sharp the next day. He said he and his partner would be ready to trade.

They drove—Carlton at the wheel of course—to San Luis Obispo in the morning, armed with information and loaded with Starbucks. Traffic was easy, which always improved Carlton's mood, and Juliet leaned back and enjoyed the passing scenery of spring as the caffeine and coffee nirvana settled in.

She felt crisp and cool, and he certainly looked that way too, relaxed and humming a little as the miles zipped by. She liked him best this way, when they were alone and he could dial back his usual need to be the guy in charge; when he could just be her lean, quiet, blue-eyed partner and friend.

Sipping her lovely Starbucks, she ventured. "I don't think I've ever met anyone from SLOPD. You?"

He shrugged. "Maybe at conferences. Have you ever been up there?"

"No. Well, when I first moved to California, I took a few day drives to get the lay of the land. I might have driven through."

"What made a Miami girl even choose California?" he asked curiously. "I know you visited with Scott Seaver, but what made you start your detective career here?"

He'd never asked before. Juliet smiled. "I didn't think I could ever prove myself in Miami. It was just too big for me to get a foothold there, and… you know, I wanted to break free of family. California seemed like it might be far enough away."

"Uh, yeah. But you…" Carlton hesitated. "You like your family. Right? All the brothers?"

"Yes, of course. But I… I wanted to be Juliet O'Hara, not little sister Julie. And professionally I wanted a clear field. Dream big, right? Since I'd been here with Scott, I knew it was beautiful, and it was by the ocean, which was my concession to a Miami home life." She laughed. "Though in Miami I only got to see the ocean every few weeks. We didn't exactly live beachside."

"Santa Barbara does have its views," he admitted.

"Why Carlton, and here I thought you only had eyes for crime."

A reluctant smile curved his mouth. "Don't tell anyone."

He'd mellowed, in his own way, over the past few years. Only with her, she thought, at least _mostly_ only with her. But she'd take that.

And in the past few months, after Yin had nearly killed her, he'd … Juliet hesitated. He hadn't changed in any substantial way, no. But there was something… different in how he seemed to regard her. Something maybe ten percent gentler in how he looked at her. He even asked her sometimes—and seemed to want to know the answer—how she was, or what she'd done that weekend. It was as if once she broke down in front of him, within his unexpectedly and blessedly comforting embrace, he felt more open to being… _himself_ with her.

He cursed at a passing driver, startling her, and she grinned privately out the window. Nope. He was fundamentally the same Carlton after all—but that was okay too.

SLOPD was on a busy street, with limited public parking on the lone side road. "Guess they don't get many drop-ins," she said as he pulled in half a block away. "I'll text him we're here."

The building was white, or maybe tan—hard to tell in the bright morning sunlight—and sort of nondescript, but then again, it was what went on _inside_ that mattered.

Volakis met them at the door. He was tall like Carlton, but sandy-haired. Younger, she thought, but not by much. He had a strong handshake, and her quick glance at Carlton told her he approved.

"Come on back. My partner's joining us in a minute. Coffee?"

"Is it drinkable?" Carlton asked bluntly. He'd polished off his Starbucks at least forty miles ago.

Volakis laughed. "Actually yeah. Our chief insists."

"Then pour me a cup, Detective."

He led them past Booking and Intake to what looked like a small meeting room, and Juliet ducked off into the conveniently-located loo— _her_ Starbucks had run out at least _fifty_ miles ago.

Coming out, she nearly ran into a tall blonde, who stood back to let her pass.

"Sorry about that," she said.

The woman smiled. "No problem. Since I don't recognize you but you're wearing a badge, may I assume you're Detective O'Hara from the Santa Barbara PD?"

"Yes! I'm here with my partner. Around the corner, I think."

"That's right." She gestured. "I'll be there in a minute. I'm Volakis' partner." She had to stand back again to let another woman enter the restroom.

Juliet chuckled. "Not a good place to linger. I'll see you in a bit."

In the office, Volakis had laid out a slew of folders, and Juliet booted up the SBPD laptop she'd brought along.

"I have a good feeling about this connection," Volakis said. "And not just because his weeks off here match up with his weeks _on_ for you."

"We've had fourteen break-ins. You've had how many?" Carlton leaned back in his chair, legs crossed, looking relaxed.

"Eighteen. Four before he hit you. So he's probably local to us."

"Maybe not," Juliet countered, "He could have started with you, taken a week off because it wasn't convenient, and then after a second week with you decided he could swing it at home, too."

"Or maybe he lives halfway between here and there," said the blonde woman, coming in with her own coffee.

Volakis straightened up, and both Carlton and Juliet turned in their chairs. "This is my partner Detective Lucinda Barry," he said as if those were perfectly ordinary words. "Barry, this is O'Hara, and here's—"

"Carlton Lassiter," she said slowly with a faint smile. Very faint. Almost not there at all.

Juliet had to force herself not to gape with shock.

Carlton's coffee mug slipped a little, but he caught it in time. "Lucinda," he said, and to Juliet his voice sounded muted, and almost as if the woman's first name was foreign to him.

But then sometimes it seemed _Juliet_ was foreign to him too.

"Long time." Lucinda slid into the empty chair, and for a few moments there was a deep silence in the room.

Juliet glanced at Volakis, completely unnerved and desperate not to show it.

He seemed only puzzled. "You know each other?"

"We've crossed paths," she said mildly.

Carlton straightened up. "We were partners years ago." His tone was mild too, but Juliet knew him: he was rattled. A little pale, a little exactly like his usual _still_ self, but definitely rattled.

 _She_ was rattled.

 _He had an affair with this woman. This tall, cool, pretty and very remote woman._

Lucinda nodded, meeting Volakis' gaze impassively. "True story." To Juliet more than Carlton, she explained, "I've only been here about eight months, so Volakis doesn't have my background memorized yet."

Juliet found her voice at last. "Where did you transfer from?" Because _she_ wasn't touching the elephant, no sir.

"Well, from Santa Barbara I went up to Modesto for a couple of years. Lately I've been in San Jose. But I wanted something a little smaller. Less… crime-y." She managed another faint smile. "So everyone has coffee? Let's get down to business." To Carlton, perhaps realizing a potential tactical error if she wanted to shrink the elephant, she said, "We'll catch up later."

"Sure." Big slug of coffee.

Juliet felt goosebumps.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

They broke for lunch, and Juliet couldn't get into the restroom fast enough—her first moment alone since. Just... _since_.

Lucinda had been called away twice, and Carlton had visibly relaxed each time she was out of the room.

Volakis didn't ask any questions, and they'd all kept to the topic at hand: sharing information about the break-ins and trying to work up a more complete profile of their shadowy limping perp.

But her mind was on two tracks, maybe three… or four or seventeen: watching Carlton not watch Lucinda, while Lucinda conspicuously didn't watch him. How they both tried so hard to seem unperturbed by this meeting.

How Carlton didn't keep eye contact with Juliet long enough for her to figure him out—but clearly knew she was _trying_ to figure him out. He knew she could read those vivid blue eyes better than anyone else.

They had never discussed Lucinda Barry. She knew the woman's name, and had heard the rumors. She knew Shawn had outed their affair, heard it was probably short-lived to begin with, knew he'd already been separated from Victoria for close to two years. She knew Lucinda hadn't been at SBPD for more than a year or two.

She remembered—with embarrassment—challenging Carlton about "interoffice romance," and how he'd bristled against her too-young-too-cocky-too-thinks-she-knows-it-all arrogance.

She even knew instinctively that Lucinda Barry was the reason he'd kept Juliet at arms' length for so long: he had to recover professionally.

But they'd never discussed her. And apart from looking her up some years ago to put a face to the legendary name—not that she recognized her in their first encounter today—she really knew nothing about the woman or how she'd worked herself into Carlton's personal life.

She washed her hands and took a deep breath.

Lunch. Lunch would be... interesting.

 _He slept with her._

Why did _that_ keep reverberating in her head?

 _He slept with her._ He'd risked his partnership, and their careers, and what was left of his mostly-dead marriage.

It was so... _uncontrolled_.

Carlton's entire sense of self involved control: of himself, of his job, of criminals. Hell, of paperwork. Casefiles. Everything. _Control_. He had to be master of himself and his environment, and she put it down to what she knew of how he was raised.

If the thing with Lucinda had been a one-night stand—a very human lapse, nearly understandable even for him, given his long separation—she might have had a better handle on it.

But this was an _affair_ , by all (admittedly underinformed) accounts.

So… was it a _love_ affair?

Juliet swallowed, unexpectedly uneasy.

Funny how up until this moment she'd never thought of that. She'd always assumed it was just a tawdry "episode" in a beleaguered man's life, a crisis brought on by job stress with his new boss and personal stress by way of Victoria.

She'd never before considered that he might have… _loved_ Lucinda.

Why?

Well… because he _was_ all about control. Because in those early days of their partnership, he was all cool command, alternately stalwart & snarky, arrogant and demanding.

Men like that didn't fall in _love_. Right?

And equally cool, remote women like Lucinda—she even had blue eyes too, though hers were pale and revealed nothing—didn't have tawdry episodes. Right?

And with that, Juliet admonished herself sharply that she knew nothing about _anything_ , because in the first place she didn't know Fact One about Lucinda Barry, and in the second place, she knew so much about how Carlton Lassiter had changed since she met him that the truth was, she had no idea who he really was before she walked into the SBPD to take Lucinda's place.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

He'd forgotten how tall she was. Without heels—and like Juliet, she preferred heels—she was easily 5'10, and with the heels, she was just about his height.

He'd liked her light blue eyes too—or maybe what he'd liked was that she was reserved, She didn't give a lot away. She didn't want to be treated differently because she was a woman, so she did her best to seem like a person—a cop—first.

But whereas Juliet's absolute ability to kick a perp's ass never undermined her sunny nature, Lucinda had always chosen control. Calm. _Reserve_.

Victoria was all about drama and upset. And she'd pulled back from him in every way, for much too long.

He couldn't even remember how, exactly, he'd ended up sleeping with Lucinda, except that the first time involved a drunken night out after solving a tough case. He'd never had the nerve to ask her what _she_ remembered: who came on to whom that first night? After that, their encounters were sober, but rushed and furtive. For some people having affairs, the awareness that it was wrong, or the fear of discovery, heightened its appeal. For him, it was knowing a woman wanted him. A strong and reserved woman who didn't _need_ him, _wanted_ him.

Victoria didn't want him. But for a few weeks—five or six tops before Spencer busted it up—Lucinda had.

Carlton's head was down as he pretended to study the folder in front of him, turning pages automatically, not taking in a single word. Juliet had gone to the restroom, Lucinda had slipped out for a minute, and Volakis was on the phone, In a few minutes they were going to pile into a car and go have lunch, may God have mercy on his soul.

There was so much to process.

The expression on Lucinda's face as she drawled out his name. More accurately, the inscrutability of it.

The expression on Juliet's face as the words registered. More accurately, the flash of surprise mixed with unease and—dare he think it—sympathy.

The years gone by—was it five?

They'd had no contact. Vick transferred her out ASAP, and other than an awkward coffee the last morning before she left, they'd had no contact. She'd even said to him, "Let this be our past. Don't forget, but don't... try to resuscitate. Okay?"

"Okay," he'd agreed, and while he probably would have missed her in a normal world, as if he knew what a normal world was, his had just been split open by Spencer, not to mention the arrival of his new partner. He could have throttled Karen Vick for choosing to assign another blonde young woman to work with him. Was she evil? Was she testing him? Was she getting revenge because she knew he resented her making Chief, even interim, and hadn't been overly shy about it?

How was he supposed to treat fresh-faced, pretty Juliet O'Hara so soon after being outed for his affair with his last partner?

Lucinda. After all these years.

 _Hell_.

Slapping the folder closed, he got up abruptly and pulled himself together.

There were bigger problems than a polite lunch having polite conversation with his polite ex-lover.

There was this case, for one thing.

But for another—and this seemed of far larger consequence—there was the upcoming drive back home with Juliet, because there was no way, none at all, zero, zippo, zilch, nada, that his past wasn't going to be part of their conversation.

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 _ **A/N** While you wait for the next chapter, which __**won't**_ _be tomorrow, could I interest you in an amusing, quirky sequel to_ _ **The Princess Bride**_ _? It's called "Humperdinck's Revenge_ _";_ _I quite enjoyed it and I know the writer (Random Guise) would love more readers._ _s/12510723/1/Humperdinck-s-Revenge_

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	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO**

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 **. . . .**

Carlton was standing by the window, feeling completely ill-at-ease and trying to fake otherwise, when Juliet returned from the ladies' room. She looked at him levelly, her smile bland.

He knew he should say something to her while they were alone. But he had no idea what it should be.

Still—just _start_. "O'Hara," he began.

She approached, her blue eyes—darker than Lucinda's, and prettier—not giving much away, but her expectant expression was all he needed to feel a bit safer.

But what was he supposed to _say_?

After a moment, she gave him an escape. "Where are the others?"

"Uh... Volakis is still on the phone. I don't know where Barry went."

Juliet nodded, still neutral.

Damn her, being kind to him.

"O'Hara," he started again.

But Lucinda returned, drying her hands off with a towel she discarded in the nearest trash can. She too seemed neutral. "I think we have some good places to start looking for this guy."

 _Thank God_. Carlton could play it that way. "Yeah. First we cross-reference our known offenders with limps against your known offenders with limps."

"Actually, first we have to review our collection of video footage to see if our guy has a limp at all." She leaned against the table, arms folded, surveying them both. "How long have you been partners?"

The question was directed at Juliet, who hesitated before answering. "Since you left."

" _Left_ ," Lucinda repeated with faint amusement. "That's a diplomatic word for it."

His stomach began to roil. Next to him, Juliet seemed very still.

But Lucinda only smiled again. "Let's just clear some of this tension, okay? I'm going to assume you heard some rumors about us when you started. You're going to assume I know this. Can we move on now?"

He was a bit annoyed that she was implying Juliet was some sort of problem here.

Apparently Juliet was a bit annoyed too, judging by the distinct edge to her response. "I was too young and too focused on doing well to pay much attention to rumors. And whatever happened, _if_ anything happened at all, is between the two of you and has nothing to do with me."

Lucinda seemed to find this answer very interesting. "Duly noted," she finally said.

Volakis stuck his head in the door. "Hey—I might be on this call a bit longer. Why don't you go ahead without me and I'll join you later?"

As one, all three of them said, "We'll wait."

Volakis laughed. "Okay, I'll make it as fast as I can."

Carlton eyed the two women. This dynamic was unexpected. Everything in the last two _hours_ had been unexpected.

Turning her attention to him, Lucinda inquired, "Anybody I know still at SBPD? Dobson? Whatever happened to McNab? And that New-Agey sergeant; what was her name?"

"Officer Allen," Juliet supplied. "They're all still there."

"Chief Vick," he managed, "turned out to be the best man for that job."

Lucinda's eyebrows went up. "Glad to hear you say so. _I_ thought she had potential."

"She did. More than I had at the time." He felt Juliet's immediate glance, and met it squarely. "I would have bull-dozed my way through the department and probably been fired inside of a year."

"You may be too hard on yourself," Lucinda said, and he had the impression she'd cut off whatever Juliet was about to say. "You may have been a bit... tightly wound, but there was no reason you couldn't have handled it."

He knew she was wrong. "Back then I was fighting too many battles at one time to see any of them clearly. I thought being Chief was the absolute pinnacle and that I deserved it right _then_. But I wasn't ready, and now that I know better, I think I might not even want it."

"Hmm," she said, and then looked at Juliet. "What do you think about that?"

Juliet took a breath. "Well." She glanced at him. "I think he's become more self-aware in the time I've known him. I'd say he's…" Her tone was almost apologetic. "...grown. As a person. As a cop, I'd say he's the best of the best and I've been fortunate to have him as a partner."

Carlton felt an immediate mix of pride and discomfort. The former because it was Juliet, and the latter because it was in front of Lucinda, whose expression was absolutely inscrutable.

"I know _I_ was," she finally said, surprising him, but then moving on before he could react. "Whatever happened to that pushy psychic?" She tilted her head at Carlton. "The one who gave Vick a reason to see that I... _left_?"

"So-called psychic," he corrected, choosing to ignore the emphasis on her last word. "He's still around. Thorn in my side."

Juliet, ever-loyal to her friends, protested. "He's helped us with a number of cases."

He didn't want to talk about Spencer. At least not Junior. "Henry Spencer's back on the force. Consultant liaison."

"Cool," she said, and then thankfully Volakis returned, apologizing for the delay and herding them out to the car, not noticing that the herd-ees were leading the way.

Carlton felt a little more like he could breathe now. Trying to hold himself together in front of both women—one of whom he still had to face later on—had required more personal strength than he had in reserve.

And they still had to get through lunch.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

Juliet didn't know what to make of any of this. Lucinda Barry seemed competent and effective in her role as detective, but as an individual with this very particular _history_ , there was a sharpness to all of her comments in the room earlier which she couldn't quite define.

She couldn't read her: was Lucinda angry about what happened; was she bitter? Did she blame Carlton? Or was she just trying to seem as if she had the situation well in hand?

And Carlton... _yikes_. When she first joined him in the room, his vivid eyes were the most storm-ridden blue she'd ever seen. She'd known enough to zip-lock any questions which might have burst out, because he appeared to fighting for all kinds of control. It was as if the moments he'd had alone had somehow stripped away the barriers he'd had up during the preceding hours.

She wanted to soothe him, but had no idea how.

In the restaurant they were seated at a square table, which was a relief. In a booth, it would have been awkward to watch Lucinda and Carlton seated next to each other, and worse to have him next to her where she couldn't read his expression. And she _needed_ to know what was going on behind those blue, blue eyes. Maybe to calm him, but maybe to calm herself. As prickly as he could be, sometimes his steady _thereness_ was a comfort to her.

At the table, she was across from Lucinda. Good. She could study this enigma better.

Volakis cooperated by directing the conversation, either about their shared perp, or in a series of questions he peppered them with about Santa Barbara. Not that he wanted to leave SLOPD, he assured them (she didn't buy it), but Santa Barbara sounded interesting and he was merely _curious_.

Lucinda said, "I think you have a lot of work left to do here. And I'm just getting started."

Volakis grinned. "So what was this guy like as a partner? His reputation as a hard-ass precedes him." He nodded at Carlton, whose tension amped up—and Juliet knew it had nothing to do with being called a hard-ass. _That_ he knew, and didn't consider an insult.

They both turned to Lucinda—the real source of Carlton's unease.

She smiled serenely. "He _was_ a hard-ass, but I hadn't been a detective very long and I needed the high standards to work toward."

"That's how I felt," Juliet admitted. "I came from Miami so I didn't know his reputation, but it didn't take long—no offense, Carlton—to figure out he would be the toughest and therefore _best_ teacher." Not that she hadn't wanted to kill him more than once. Or repeatedly.

Her partner flushed slightly; Lucinda merely maintained her serene smile.

"How long were you together?" Volakis asked.

All eyes jerked toward him. Lucinda figured it out first as meaning not _together_ , but partnered.

"Just under a year. How long were you and Wilson partnered?"

 _Deflection_ , Juliet thought. _Good choice_.

"Six years," he said. "Good guy. Shame he had to give it up."

Juliet was curious. "Did he… is he okay?"

"Oh sure. Great detective but he had a mess of a personal life. After he and his wife split up, he tracked down her new boyfriend and filled his convertible with cow manure. And as if that wasn't enough of a way to kill your career, the boyfriend's sister is on the city council."

"Whackaloon," Carlton muttered. "How'd they know he... uh... dropped the load?"

Volakis laughed; even Lucinda smirked. "He was on camera in the ag store where he bought the stuff. Used his credit card and said it was for his garden, but he lives on the fifth floor of an apartment building. I shouldn't laugh because I really liked the guy, but geez."

"Go big or go home," Juliet agreed.

"Thing is, I don't think he really regrets it. Not much chance his ex will let it go, but at least they didn't have kids. So hey... what if our perp travels between here and Santa Barbara because of some family thing?"

Lucinda leapt on it. "Or a job? Or no—maybe medical treatment related to the limp,"

They all looked at her. "I like it," Juliet said, "but if the limp's enough of a problem to require at least—how many weeks? of therapy, you'd think it would impair his thieving ability."

"Maybe the limp's a side effect."

"You mean like if he's being treated for something worse? Then I think he'd _really_ have trouble working all these break-ins."

Lucinda eyed her. "Okay, I agree with that. But we still don't know for sure whether this guy works alone. Maybe SLOPD hasn't noticed a limp because there is no limp."

"What, he fakes it sometimes?" Her tone must have been too flippant, because the pale blue gaze grew a few degrees chillier.

"No," Lucinda said evenly, "he might have an accomplice who does some of the work."

"I think we need to review your video footage," Juliet said, trying to sound only reasonable.

"I think we'd have noticed a limp," Lucinda said. It also sounded reasonable—but _felt_ like a challenge.

Juliet took it—reasonably. "That's why we need to review the footage. Once we started actively looking for the limp, it became easier to spot. You've had no reason to actively look for it."

Lucinda sipped her tea. "I think we have pretty good tech guys whose entire job is to spot, oh, let's say... _everything_?"

 _Boom_. Juliet sipped _her_ tea. "I'm sure you do."

Carlton intervened with an abrupt, "Volakis called it. Family deal. Guy's a bigamist."

Volakis laughed, and did his part: "Let's head back to the station and take another look. Did you and Barry go at it like that when you were partnered?"

Before Carlton could say a word, Lucinda answered with exaggerated calm, "I always felt free to speak my mind, just like Detective O'Hara here."

Juliet glanced at Carlton; he pushed his chair back smoothly and stood up. "Yeah, I've never known any shy women." He picked up his and Juliet's checks and strode off to the front to pay.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

At the station—the car ride there pleasant enough since Volakis continued his general good cheer and garrulousness—they quickly decided to split into two teams, and Carlton took charge here: he suggested the women review the video footage, and he'd work with Volakis to cross-reference their files of known perps.

Juliet wasn't about to argue. While she suspected Carlton and Lucinda needed at least a few minutes alone to talk, she wasn't comfortable with putting them as close as they'd need to be to review a lot of video.

Not, she assured herself, because she simply didn't want him with Lucinda. More that given his level of discomfort so far, he'd probably short-circuit completely if he had no ready escape route. And most likely he knew that himself, hence his choice to work with Volakis.

In the video room, she waited for Lucinda to cue up the first batch of footage.

"So," she said casually, "what was going on back at the restaurant? Any reason for the snarkery?"

Lucinda drew back and stared at her, nonplussed. "Snarkery?"

Juliet crossed her arms. "Did you think I was denigrating your skills? Or are you mad at me because I took your place?"

"Took my place," she repeated, blue eyes expressionless.

Unwilling to prolong the _parrot-everything-I-say_ game, Juliet chose silence.

Lucinda cleared her throat. "I'm sorry. I probably did sound a little snarky."

"We're working together. There's no time for attitude." She judged Lucinda as being in her early forties, but just as often happened with Shawn, she felt like the only adult for a moment.

"I know. I know." Lucinda tugged at her ponytail, then leaned back in her chair with a sigh. "Can I ask you a question?"

Shrugging, she also leaned back and waited.

"It's going to sound stupid, but what the hell."

"You can ask whatever you want." Didn't guarantee an answer, though.

But Lucinda surprised her. "What do people say about me? At the SBPD? If not now, then… when you first got there?"

"What… what do they _say_ about you?" Great, now she was repeating.

Lucinda sighed again. "Look, I think I was pretty good at my job, but I didn't have a lot of friends there. Not that I had enemies. I just mean I didn't have a lot of buddies on the force, you know?"

She knew. She remembered a key conversation with Chief Vick once about that very issue (along with the paranoid nutcase patrolwoman who caused it): how it was difficult for female police officers to form friendships.

"So going out under a cloud... I can't help but wonder how I was thought of professionally afterwards. If maybe the good police work I did was overshadowed by talk about... my personal life. Or rumors thereof."

Juliet met her gaze, choosing how to respond.

"I figure if that Spencer guy stuck around, he did what he could to make things worse. Not for me necessarily, but because it was pretty damn obvious he liked to needle Lassiter."

It was too much to give a simple answer to. _So... jump in_.

"Okay, first of all, what I said earlier is true. People didn't talk much about you to me. I heard rumors, but I didn't ask questions. I really was too busy trying to find my way and Carlton was like... the frozen tundra." She amended this with, "An angry frozen tundra."

A faint smile from Lucinda.

"Plus, I looked like a fifteen-year-old Jan Brady. I was way more concerned about having people take me seriously. So far as I understood, no one had anything critical to say about you as a cop. I got the feeling no one knew you very well."

"No one really did," she admitted. "I wanted it that way professionally, and then after... well, I saw the value of keeping my own counsel."

 _And then after..._ telling.

Juliet went on, "As for Shawn Spencer, yes, he still likes to poke at Carlton. I don't think he knows how _not_ to. But he never said much about you to me. I thought maybe he felt a little guilty about being the reason you got transferred."

"Outed," Lucinda corrected. "Not transferred. It was the thing he outed which got me transferred."

Another admission. _This was all true_. Not that she'd really doubted it after the last few hours, but Lucinda was essentially admitting to an affair with Carlton Lassiter.

Juliet felt uneasy again, but couldn't analyze why.

"You're surprised," Lucinda remarked calmly.

She took in a breath. "I don't know what I am."

"Lassiter never talked about it?"

 _Not a word._ Ever. Even in that gruesome conversation she'd started about disapproving of interoffice romance, he'd never said a word to acknowledge the veracity of the rumor.

"No."

"But you're good partners. I can tell. You give a off a vibe of... connectedness."

 _Yes_ , she thought. _Connectedness_.

"I think we are. But he's a private person and I don't pry into the especially-boarded-up areas."

Lucinda smiled slightly again. "Yeah, you know him. Whatever happened to the wife?"

"Divorced a couple of years ago. He doesn't really talk about that either."

"Don't expect he would."

"How..." Juliet began, then stopped. This was too invasive. "Never mind."

"Oh," drawled Lucinda, "you might as well go for it now. How did it happen? How did it start? How _could_ I?"

No. She couldn't ask. It wasn't hers to know, not unless it came from Carlton himself. "Is this the first time you've had any contact?"

Lucinda allowed the evasion. "Yep. Mutual agreement. And no regrets, either. It shouldn't have happened in the first place, and transferring out meant a clean slate for both of us. I expect it was easier for me, though. He had to stay there and clean up."

Hence those early months of the angry frozen tundra.

There was a silence, and Juliet gathered her focus. "Maybe we should be looking at video footage."

"Maybe we should. But to answer your original question, yeah, I was a little angry that you took my place. His next partner wasn't supposed to be competent, friendly or pretty." Her smile was wry. "I don't blame him for anything and we didn't exactly... call it off, right? But it would have been better for my ego if he hadn't traded up."

Juliet rolled her eyes. "I wasn't kidding about the Jan Brady thing, you know."

Lucinda laughed. "Just accept my apology."

"Done. Now can we look at the videos?"

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER THREE**

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

Volakis slung himself into the chair across the table, sliding a fresh mug of coffee over. "I told you this stuff was good, didn't I?"

"Sorry I doubted." He scrolled through the next few screens of data, noticing after a bit that while Volakis was in front of a laptop too, he didn't seem to be looking at it, but rather… well, at Carlton.

 _Hmmm._

"Problem?"

Volakis smiled. "You noticed I like to talk a lot?"

Carlton had never been overly inclined toward diplomacy. "Yeah?"

"It's kind of a tool. A misdirection. I watch other folks' body language while they think I'm too busy blathering on about my own crap."

 _Ah, here we go._

He lowered the laptop lid to see Volakis better, waiting for him to continue.

"So yeah, I spotted a little tension between you and Barry. Anything I need to know about that, for the future of _my_ partnership with her?"

He'd been halfway expecting something like this. "Not that I'm aware of."

The other man smiled. "See, when former partners get together there's usually some back-slapping and how-ya-doin' stuff. You guys acted more like you hoped you'd never see each other again."

Carlton kept his tone neutral. "That's more on my side than hers." At Volakis' raised eyebrows, he took a swig of the coffee and sat back. "You heard I was a hard-ass. Well, when she and I were partnered, I was at the height of my prodigious amounts of arrogance and smuggery and..." He shook his head, because this was all too damned true. "Some would say I'm not much better now. But I'm trying. And seeing Barry unexpectedly like this brought back a lot of memories I'd just as soon forget."

Studying him as if judging... _everything_ , Volakis slowly nodded.

"She was right to transfer out." As if that were a choice at the time. "It was the best move and I know she's better off."

Volakis sipped his coffee. "You came on to her. She put you down."

 _Steel. Be steel. Show nothing._

 _And protect her._

When his chest felt a bit less tight, he said neutrally, "Like I said, I was at my worst back then. We had a good partnership and I assume she's done well every place she's landed since."

"Yeah, I think she has. No complaints here. Okay, butting out now." Volakis opened up his laptop, humming a little. "So what do you think about this guy maybe being a minister?"

"The hell?" Mental whiplash.

"You know, for some church where they have to share a pastor. He could travel between the two cities and—what are you rolling your eyes for?"

Carlton shook his head. "I'm not rolling my eyes. They just get loose in my head sometimes."

Volakis only laughed. "Kidding. I'm actually thinking it might be a salesman. Someone who has to travel between these locations. Probably single."

"Right. Maybe has an apartment in one town, stays in a hotel in the other. Or with relatives."

"But commissions suck so he got creative."

"The stuff he's stealing hasn't formed any pattern, and it's not turning up in pawnshops. He'd only be making a profit when he steals money."

"This profile makes no sense," Volakis declared.

"Glad you caught up with me," Carlton said dryly, and earned another laugh.

Later he got up to stretch his legs and refill his mug, and across the SLOPD bullpen, he spotted Juliet and Lucinda talking in front of the video room door.

He couldn't help but compare the two women. So different in personality, so different from _him_ , but so significant in his life. Looking at Lucinda, he could only muster up regard, but not whatever it was he'd felt for her once, briefly, so many years ago. He respected her, and he was sorry he'd tarnished her career. But he wasn't _drawn_ to her.

His gaze settled on Juliet—bright, pretty, tough. Relentless on the job and persistent when it came to trying to understand him. His friend in ways he'd never managed with Lucinda, and his supporter in ways he'd never expected with… _anyone_.

So damn pretty too, with her soft hair and big blue eyes, and that wasn't even what made her beautiful to him.

 _You're an idiot._

 _Yeah, well... old news_.

Juliet turned her head and unerringly met his gaze, as if she'd somehow known he was watching, and nodded slightly. Lucinda was looking down at a clipboard and didn't see, and Carlton knew Juliet was telling him everything was okay.

Everything _wasn't_ okay, of course. But that she was trying to settle him was... just like her.

He gave her a slight smile and went back to filling his mug.

The women approached as he was re-entering the office. "We've got something," Juliet said.

"The limp is there." Lucinda gestured to a set of notes on the clipboard. "It's not in every video because he's so good at avoiding the cameras, but it's in eight of the twelve break-ins that SLOPD has video on."

Volakis took the clipboard, perusing her notes. "Excellent. So is the accomplice theory holding up?"

"Not really. At least, not _inside_ each location."

"Right," Juliet clarified. "He could still have someone on the outside in a getaway car, but this really looks like just the one guy pulling all the jobs."

"Where there _are_ outside cameras, all we can see is a shadowy figure moving out of range on foot." Lucinda took the clipboard back from Volakis and sat down. "He's good. But our combined gut feeling that it's the same guy won't hold up in court, let alone find him in the files."

"And we'll only find him if he's a known offender," Carlton agreed. "And I think he is. No rookie comes up with a plan this detailed. He seems like someone who learned a few lessons along the way, and those kinds of lessons tend to get a guy fingerprinted at least once."

"Agreed." Juliet came to stand next to him, and a familiar light scent of peaches came with her.

"Nothing adds up," Lucinda said. "Some break-ins were in places with cameras, some weren't. Some places had security systems, some didn't. Some did, but they weren't activated. We can rule out security company employees, or we should, because there's at least four companies involved."

Volakis took his seat, and the others followed suit. "But these can't be random. I mean, not completely. He's got to have some plan other than the Tuesday/Thursday thing."

"So what have you guys come up with? What links the victims?" Juliet looked up at Carlton curiously. "You must have a hunch."

He was surprised. "I must?"

She grinned. "I have a hunch you have a hunch."

"The only hunch I have is from bending over this laptop," he countered. "We're looking for a guy who has a good reason to be in both these cities, one week on, one week off. He's able to pick locks and avoid being on camera. He takes what he can carry, parks—if he parks at all—well out of range of any other cameras."

"He parks," Lucinda said. "With the limp and a bag of goodies, he wouldn't be walking far."

Carlton nodded. "He's got time to plan it all out carefully, and is confident enough to work alone."

"Any of the known offenders in the database have limps?" Juliet turned his laptop so she could see the screen better. "You have four mugshots here."

Volakis nodded. "We were just about to vet them. I have four more over here."

Carlton explained—in his mind talking more to Juliet than anyone else—that the eight possibles were men between twenty and fifty who'd been arrested for everything from possession to assault. Each lived in either San Luis Obispo or Santa Barbara or someplace in between. Each was on record as having some sort of leg issue, whether or not it was identified specifically as a limp.

They went over the candidates one by one, and number seven of the eight looked very promising indeed: he fit the build of the shadowy man on camera, his limp was chronic, and he happened to work for an electronics store based in Santa Barbara while maintaining an address in San Luis Obispo.

Juliet made a fact-finding call to the store, pretending to be from the man's bank.

Carlton watched her eyes light up as she listened.

"Excuse me?" she asked. "I don't understand." She listened awhile longer, and then with a smile said thanks and she'd call back next week.

"Well?"

"Steven Brand," she announced with some glee, "is a floating trainer for their new employees. He works in both Santa Barbara and San Luis Obispo, on a weekly schedule. _This_ week he's right here in town, and in case you need reminding, last week the break-ins were in Santa Barbara."

There was a round of "booyahs" and Carlton for one felt very good about the chance this was their guy.

"Now we just have to figure out how to link him to any of the break-ins," he said, to beat down any overconfidence. "Hunches won't get cuffs around his wrists."

"Doesn't mean we can't go talk to him," Volakis said. "You know, nice friendly Tuesday afternoon visit."

Lucinda agreed. "And I know a judge who'd be open to hearing our probable cause for a search warrant for Brand's place. What are his priors?"

Scanning the file, Carlton couldn't help but grin just a little bit. "Breaking and entering when he was nineteen. He's been clean since—he's thirty-four now."

"After we run this by the Chief and write up a warrant, I think _you're_ going to talk to the judge," Volakis said triumphantly to Lucinda. "Take Lassiter. O'Hara, you up for a run to Electro City to chat with Mr. Brand?"

She gave an immediate yes, but gave Carlton a side glance, her dark blue eyes a bit alarmed.

He knew what she was thinking, because he was thinking it too—whether or not it was Volakis' intent to stir things up, he'd just guaranteed the 'alone time' that Carlton hadn't particularly wanted to have with his ex-partner.

His mood wasn't quite so good now.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

The Chief approved, the warrant was written, Juliet and Volakis had driven off to Electro City, and now he was with Lucinda Barry.

Alone.

Defenseless.

 _Pull yourself together, dumbass_.

The courthouse was only three blocks away, so they walked. The day was pleasant and despite his unease, she said nothing inflammatory, no horrible needling things like "how are you?" or "look at the fluffy clouds" or "cool tie," as they passed somewhat nondescript buildings and palm trees, although the Morgan Stanley office was kind of nice, and her long-legged stride was easy to match and then they were in the courthouse and then they were in front of the judge.

Lucinda did the talking; he stood by and looked stern (he hoped).

The judge was amenable, allowed as how the case looked intriguing, and signed the warrant with a flourish.

Then they were back on the street with said signed warrant, passing the palms and waiting for cross-walk lights, but when they got to the Morgan Stanley office building Lucinda suddenly veered left and sat down on one of the benches out in front.

"So," she said calmly. "Have a seat."

He stared at her. _You knew this was coming, smart guy_.

"We should probably talk while we have the chance," she prompted him.

He remained standing for a few moments more, completely unsettled.

Talk. _Talk?_

Didn't she remember he sucked at talking? Especially talking about things that shouldn't have happened? Emotional, psychological, career-skewing inappropriate things? _Talk_?

Yet her expression remained as neutral as her tone.

"Lassiter, sit."

"Okay." He sat, angled slightly toward her. _You KNEW this was coming, so suck it up already._

"You're well?"

Carlton blinked. "I am. You?"

"I am. I like it here, I think my career's in good shape, I have a significant other, and I don't have any residual negative feelings about what happened with us."

He blinked again. "That's, uh, good. And except for the significant other, ditto."

"Liar." She was mild. "Maybe you don't have negative feelings about _us_ , but you're definitely freaked about seeing me." The breeze ruffled a loose lock of hair, and her cool blue gaze was even.

 _No point in denial_. "I guess I wasn't prepared to..." He hesitated. "To be reminded of what a jackass I was back then. Or of what damage I did to both of us, career-wise."

"Um, you didn't do it alone, you know. Pretty sure I was involved." She smiled slightly until he finally nodded in agreement. "And it worked out okay—you obviously rode out the storm there, and I surfed on ahead. Plus, your reputation as a great detective made good P.R. for me. Having been partnered with you gave me some extra authenticity."

"Oh." He was at a loss now. He didn't know what he'd expected, but this wasn't it. "I thought I was reviled state-wide."

Lucinda laughed. "Not quite. How was it there? The aftermath? I did worry a little about you."

He looked down at the sidewalk for a moment, relaxing now that she seemed more friend than foe. "The first few weeks sucked donkey butt. I had to amp up my son-of-a-bitch-ness to keep everyone in line. Plus Spencer was a regular pain in the ass, and then Vick brought in O'Hara to punish me."

"To _punish_ you?" she repeated, smiling in puzzlement.

"Well, that's what it seemed like. How better to test the philanderer than by assigning him another young female partner? I assumed she wanted me out, and O'Hara was her weapon of choice."

Lucinda's eyebrows shot up. "That really doesn't sound like the Vick I remember."

"No? She was pregnant, hormonal, and so far as I knew, hated me."

"That doesn't sound like her either. Well, the hating part. If she wanted to get rid of you, _you'd_ have been the one she transferred, and I don't see her using O'Hara or anyone else as a pawn to get back at you. Plus, you weren't a philanderer. You were separated—and yes, I knew it was closer to two years than five months—and while it looked bad for _both_ of us, it didn't make you some kind of lowlife serial cheater."

Carlton rubbed his face, not even surprised she knew about the length of his separation. "Can't you let me have my guilt?"

"No," she said with another laugh, and it was startlingly pleasant to feel he was understood by this particular woman after all these years. "It's time to let it go. Do you still think Vick hates you?"

"Well, she routinely wants to kill me, but I don't think she hates me."

"That's very open-minded of you. And your partner? You seem to click pretty well."

"It's a frickin' miracle," he admitted. He thought so fairly often. Five years Juliet had stuck by him, and he had no idea why.

"It's really not." She patted his arm. "You're just not as bad as you think you are, and O'Hara must instinctively know not to give you up."

Carlton eyed her. "Were you always this positive?"

Lucinda's smile was wide. "I hid it because I didn't want to cramp your style."

"Uh-huh. So..." he straightened up. "Why the snark in the conference room earlier? And at lunch?"

Her smile never faltered. "O'Hara asked me that too. Do I really need to explain?"

"Barry. You can't seriously have forgotten that I'm no good at subtext where women are concerned."

"Ah, yes." She seemed to find him so amusing, but not in a way to put him back on edge. "Look, I may have moved on in my personal life, but I'm not that unusual as women go. Exes are supposed to wither away, whether we still want them or not. So for you to waltz in looking the way you do, with those remarkable big blue eyes—and with an equally attractive partner at your side, one you seem really close to? I wasn't ready for that."

He felt himself blushing. "Oh."

"Plus I had no idea what O'Hara knew about us, or how I was regarded back in Santa Barbara. I had to get the lay of the land, and the best defense is still a good offense. O'Hara called me on it earlier and we're good. Okay?"

"Uh... yes. Okay."

"So are _we_ good? For like another five years?"

"Yeah." He stood up when she did, and she held out her hand to shake his. "Yeah, we are."

They walked back to the station, speaking of shooting ranges and competitions, pledging to meet up at one sometime and compare their target-hitting abilities.

It was never going to be perfectly easy between them, but truth be told, it had never been perfectly easy between them. He'd never been and never would be a perfectly easy kind of man.

That he and Lucinda had carved out any space together at all—however ill-advised—was still a mystery to him, but he'd needed her at the time and she was there for him.

The greater mystery in his life would always be Juliet, and crack detective or not, he was of mixed feelings about whether that one should be solved.

 _One you seem really close to,_ Lucinda had said.

Well, she wasn't wrong about that. It just wasn't the kind of _close_ he wanted... or would ever have.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**


	4. Chapter 4

_Sorry for the delay... stuff. Blocks. You know. I did tell you to go read Humperdinck's Revenge by Random Guise while you were waiting, right?_

 ** _. . . . . ._**

 **CHAPTER FOUR**

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

Volakis was more relaxed at the wheel than Carlton, but he tended to tailgate, which drove Juliet a bit nuts.

"You know, I think I might have met that Brand guy once."

"You did? How so?"

"Well, he's a trainer, right? I think—in fact, I'm sure now—that he was on duty at Electro City a few months ago when I went in looking for a new set of speakers. I remember a trainee kid who looked about twelve, and Brand had to keep stepping in. He was pretty friendly and seemed to know his stuff."

"Then you can start the conversation," Juliet suggested. "I wonder if 'knowing his stuff'means remembering what _stuff_ his customers are buying."

"Yeah, we need to talk to the victims to see if they shopped at Electro City prior to the break-ins."

"Or if anything they bought there was stolen."

"When he wasn't taking money or quilts or… rotisserie chickens."

Brand—if he was their perp—hadn't stuck to any one type of item to steal.

"I guess all that breaking and entering helps a man work up an appetite. Do you remember if he limped?"

"No, but my attention was focused on a sweet set of Polks."

"Ah," she said as if that meant anything to her. It worked with Shawn regularly.

"So Lassiter and Barry, huh," he said casually at a red light.

Juliet glanced at him. "What about them?"

"Ex-partners." He was still casual. "Ex-more?"

She frowned, already battening down mental hatches. "What's that mean?"

Now he glanced at her, smiling. "Well, he let me know how it was between them."

"Oh, he did not," she said with a roll of her eyes.

Volakis laughed. "Come on. Guys tell each other things—"

"Lassiter told you nothing," she retorted.

"Hey, we were alone in the room, and—"

Juliet cut him off. "I know my partner. I know how private he is. Whatever you're hinting at is exactly the kind of thing he would never say to a stranger for any reason." She amended that with, "Unless he was trying to get you to confess to a crime."

Again he laughed, but persisted, "Like I said, guys—"

Again she interrupted. "Volakis, whatever his outer hard-ass reputation, that man is old-fashioned. The number one reason he'd never say anything to you or anyone else—if and only if there _were_ something to tell—is that he'd think it was disrespectful to Barry. So you can drop your fishing expedition, because even if he said something to you, and even if I knew anything about it, I'd never give up any information about his personal life—out of respect for _him_. Got it?"

He was silent a moment, then let out a low whistle. "Wow."

Juliet looked out the window.

The light finally changed, and they went on.

"You know, I wasn't gonna bash him or anything," he ventured. "Partners can get close, and things happen."

She continued looking out the window.

"I mean, _you're_ obviously close."

Juliet turned her head sharply. "Oh, now you're assuming things about me? What is it with you male police officers where women cops are concerned? You think we're all just looking for romance between solving crime?"

Volakis seemed more amused than chastised. "You remind me of my last partner. She never let me get away with anything, ever."

"Is that why you're not partners anymore? Because you pissed her off?" she prompted.

"Nah, we had to split up once we got married." He held up his left hand to show his ring, and Juliet couldn't decide whether to laugh or smack him. "Take it easy, O'Hara. Newlyweds think everyone should be as happy as they are."

"Oh brother," she said with a sigh. "Can we just go talk to Steven Brand already?"

"We're nearly there," he assured her. "And for the record, you're right. Lassiter didn't say anything except she was better off. I'm just a nosy son of a bitch."

"Agreed."

"Although you _do_ seem pretty close."

Juliet flipped him off.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

A security guard at the door pointed them to Steven Brand, who was with a trainee and customer over in the cell phone section. Brand's back was to them as they approached, and he was listening to the interchange between the trainee and the notably confused customer.

Then the customer smiled as something "clicked," the trainee beamed, and the set of Brand's shoulders relaxed; obviously Trainee had passed a field test.

She heard, "I'll take it," and Trainee gestured toward the nearest cash register.

"Brand," Volakis said calmly. "Hold up."

He turned—brown hair, hazel eyes, open expression—and kept his customer-service face on. "May I help you?" His gaze skittered to Juliet, and he smiled at her.

She smiled back. This could be easy... if he cooperated.

"Yes you can." Volakis discreetly flashed his badge, and Brand tensed. "May we have a word?"

"Well, I'm working. What's this about?" Still the customer-service face, despite the stiffer way he held himself.

"We need a few minutes of your time," Juliet said. "We think you might be able to help us with a police matter." She showed him her badge as well, and by the widening of his eyes, it was clear he realized she was Santa Barbara, not San Luis Obispo. "Privately, if possible."

"Sure... I have an office. Follow me." He turned a bit abruptly and headed toward the rear; Juliet studied his limp and mentally cross-referenced his movements with those of the shadowy figure in the video.

After they passed through a set of mag-locked doors and into a utilitarian hall, Brand pointed to an open office. "Have a seat in there. I'll just let my supervisor know I'm off the floor." He started further down the hall.

Juliet and Volakis looked at each other. "Yeah," she muttered, "he's gonna run."

"Not very far," Volakis muttered back.

But Brand gave it a good shot; they caught up with him at his sedan, which was in a handicapped spot nearest the back exit. He glared at them as Juliet confiscated his keys.

" _Now_ that little talk is going to be a lot more public," she snapped, "since we're going to escort you out to _our_ car through the middle of the damned store."

Volakis chuckled. "She's pretty tough, Brand. I already got my butt chewed today."

Brand said nothing. They didn't cuff him, but Juliet's grip on his arm and Volakis bringing up the rear made cuffs unnecessary.

The security guard cleared a path for them, and even held the door while they slung Brand into the back seat of the car. (Juliet made a note to talk to _that_ guy later.)

He asked no questions while they drove, kept silent while they escorted him to interrogation, and when Volakis asked if he wanted water or coffee, his only reply was, "Go to hell."

Volakis grinned at Juliet. "This is going to be a fun little chat."

Somehow she didn't think so.

Stepping out into the bullpen, she spotted Carlton over at a desk against the window, dark head down as he perused something on a laptop screen. She wondered how his 'alone time' with Lucinda had gone, and no sooner had the thought entered her head than Lucinda herself appeared, leaning down into Carlton's space to see the screen as well.

And Carlton didn't draw back or tense up … and Juliet did.

 _They must have achieved détente_ , she thought.

Or maybe more? Their body language was a lot different now.

She felt that same unease from earlier.

Maybe 'chatting' with Brand would be more fun after all.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

Carlton felt Juliet in the room, but when he looked up to where he sensed she might be, she was just slipping out of sight.

That couldn't be good.

Lucinda said, "Okay, so this is the final list?"

He looked up at her blankly.

She was close. Neutral, but close.

 _Juliet saw that._

 _Ah, crap._

"Lassiter?" Her eyebrows arched. "Are you lost?"

Not that Juliet would have any _personal_ concerns about his proximity to Lucinda—why would she?—but she might think... hell... who knew what she might think?

"Lassiter!"

"What? Oh—yeah. That's the final list. A mix of items stolen here and in Santa Barbara. That's what to look for first." He stood up, restless and feeling a strong need to find his partner.

"I'll pass it to the uniforms," she said, adding dryly, "Maybe you've had too much coffee today."

"Great. Thanks. Excuse me." He headed toward Interrogation, seeing Volakis coming out and the SLO police chief stopping him in the hall.

In the observation area, Juliet stood with her arms crossed, glaring through the one-way glass at Steven Brand, who sat silently at a table.

"O'Hara." He felt marginally better just being in the same room with her. "How'd he do?"

Juliet gave him a cursory glance before resuming her glare at Brand. "He made a run for it as soon as he knew we were cops, but he hasn't said a word. Not a polite one, anyway."

"Hmm. Sounds guilty to me. Barry's getting the search warrant to the uniforms. She's going out with them."

"Not you too?" Her tone was deceptively mild. Too mild.

Mentally shaking off the chill, he tried to stay on point. "Uh, no. I wanted to talk to you first."

Another cursory glance. "About?"

"About whether we should let them take it from here. It's been a long day and we're still two hours out from home."

Juliet shrugged. "We have lots of long days. What's the difference?"

 _The difference is putting off that two-hour drive is just going to make it longer._

"Technically it's their case since he hit here first."

" _Technically_ he hasn't admitted to anything yet," she retorted. "He could still have an accomplice and we don't know where he stashed the stolen goods. Our work might not be done."

Carlton felt like he was treading water. "I didn't say it was done. I just think it might be done for _today_."

"You sure you don't want to stay?" Again with the mild. "Catch up with Lucinda? It's been awhile."

 _Take a breath._

"Yes, I'm sure." _Keep your tone even, man_. "We caught up as much as we're going to, and what I'm asking you is, can we go home now?"

Juliet looked fully at him, her dark blue eyes searching his.

The pause was unnerving.

"O'Hara."

"All right." She uncrossed her arms and walked out of the room, leaving him wondering what the hell just happened.

They were there another hour anyway, wrapping up loose ends and sharing the last of the information they'd brought.

In the bullpen, as Juliet was shutting down their laptop, Lucinda approached.

"I'm off to execute the search warrant. Pleasure working with you, O'Hara." She offered her hand, and Juliet shook it readily enough. "Any partner of Lassiter's is a friend of mine."

Juliet smiled. It seemed real.

Then she offered her hand to Carlton, her manner all calm. "Nice to see you again, Carlton. Maybe we'll meet up in a shooting range sometime."

"Maybe," he agreed. "Take care of yourself." That was all he could say to wrap up their history. It was honestly all he wanted to say.

"I always do," she said with a smile, and stepped back out of his life.

 _I'm glad you don't hate me, but I'm good with future silence._

Volakis appeared in the next second. "I am itchin' to start chippin' at Brand. You sure you don't want to sit in on that? I've heard about your ability to get perps to confess with just a steely blue glare."

He was tempted. It _had_ been a very, _very_ long day, and a few minutes trying to get Brand to crack might be a reward of sorts.

"Go for it." Juliet was still smiling, and it still seemed real.

"Fine," he grumbled, and led the way, ignoring her soft laughter behind him.

In Interrogation, Brand had become restless, and apparently he had re-learned to talk.

When Carlton sat across from him, Volakis and Juliet taking up positions against the wall, Brand straightened up and said, "I've been here almost ninety minutes."

"Oh, you can tell time?"

Brand scowled. "Who are you?"

"Detective Carlton Lassiter, Santa Barbara PD. You've already met Detectives Volakis and O'Hara. We'd like you to talk to us about a very interesting series of thefts both here and in Santa Barbara—you're shaking your head. Don't shake your head."

"Why not?" he retorted. "Is head-shaking illegal?"

"No, but it pisses me off. So let's start with something easy."

"Let me out of here. That's easy."

Carlton smirked. "No, easier. Why the roast chicken?"

Brand's eyes grew wide.

"Rotisserie," Juliet corrected.

"Oh, yeah, sorry. Why the rotisserie chicken?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Was it tasty?"

"Was what tasty?"

"The chicken, Brand. I'm not looking for a punchline. Did you take the chicken because you were hungry? Or because you had some chicken pawn shop hookup?"

Volakis commented, "I don't know if I'd buy chicken from a pawn shop."

"Sounds risky," Juliet agreed.

"You're asking me if I stole a chicken?" Brand was aiming for incredulous, and it was nearly believable.

Carlton said smoothly, "No, I _know_ you stole it. I'm asking you _why_ you stole it."

" _If_ I stole it, what difference does it make _why_? It's not like you'd be getting it back!"

"Chicken freezes well," Juliet pointed out. "I have a roast chicken in my freezer right now."

Brand demanded, "Why am I here?"

"Why do you limp?"

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"It has a lot to do with everything." Carlton eyed him, enjoying the look of confused annoyance on his target's face.

Volakis added, "Including the chicken."

"Would you get to the point of this colossal waste of my time?"

"Certainly." Carlton tapped the folder he'd brought in. "Steven Brand, would you please describe your whereabouts on the last eighteen Tuesdays and Thursdays between midnight and four a.m.?"

He blinked. "What?"

Silkily, Carlton inquired, "Do I need to repeat the question?"

"No. I... I was probably home sleeping."

" _Probably_." Juliet tsked. "That's not very convincing."

"Well, I—I normally do sleep at night, Detective whoever you are. How convincing do I have to be?"

Carlton pressed on. "Your permanent residence is here in San Luis Obispo. Where do you stay in Santa Barbara when you're working there?"

"With my aunt."

"She can vouch for you?"

"I don't know. She tends to sleep between midnight and four a.m. too!"

"Does she like chicken?" This was Volakis.

"Shut up about the damned chicken!"

Carlton's eyebrows shot up. "Excuse me?"

"Shut. Up. About. The chicken," Brand repeated with deliberate emphasis.

Thus, with equal emphasis, Carlton proceeded: "When you were nineteen you were arrested on a breaking and entering charge. I assume the arrest only meant the first time you were _caught_ , and certainly not the last time you _did_ it. I further assume you think you've gotten pretty good at it over the years, and yet here we are, Smuggy McSmugface, armed with a ton of evidence suggesting you've been very busy doing bad things over the last five months."

Brand was outwardly impassive, but his hazel eyes were revealing a bit of uncertainty. " _Suggesting_ ," he repeated. "Sounds flimsy."

"Uh-huh. Why did you run when Volakis and O'Hara asked to speak with you?"

"I didn't run," he said at once. "I have a limp, remember?"

"You were going at a pretty good clip," Juliet commented. "Innocent people have no reason to run."

"I _am_ innocent of... whatever the hell it is you're accusing me of, and I didn't _run_. I just went to my car to get my phone so I could record our conversation. Cops can't always be trusted, you know."

Snide little bastard.

 _How tedious_ , Carlton thought. But at least the guy was a quick thinker... for an idiot. "Mr. Brand, are you asserting that you have no knowledge of any break-ins in either city?"

"Yes, I am." Defiant, back up against the chair.

Carlton smiled coolly. "Then this is probably the best time to make a _suggestion_ that you're going to want a lawyer."

"Oh, and by the way," Volakis added, "I just got a text from Barry. They just found three of the stolen items in his spare room closet."

Juliet grinned. "Did they check the freezer for the chicken?"

Brand put his head in his hands.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER FIVE**

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

This was one of the times she didn't mind Carlton's preference to drive, especially the first few miles when they were within sight of San Luis Obispo Bay. Despite living by the water, she never tired of the vast blue expanse of ocean, always finding the sea calming and restorative.

Plus he didn't seem inclined to talk, but that wasn't new. She wasn't sure she _wanted_ him to talk, because although she had questions, she wasn't entirely sure she wanted his answers.

Lucinda Barry did seem like the kind of woman he'd be attracted to. She was far more controlled than Barbara Dunlap—and clearly Carlton liked tall women—but she was confident and competent and certainly attractive.

Juliet couldn't dislike her. She'd disliked Barbara Dunlap. Part of her horror about Carlton's interest in that fearsome creature was indeed how fearsome she was, and that their relationship hadn't gone past one lunch was a huge relief.

But Lucinda was practical and smart and… _he'd had an affair with her_. He'd _slept_ with her. Probably repeatedly. He'd shared passion with her. _Naked_.

 _Stop it._

Juliet sighed. She didn't know what her problem was.

Well, she did. She felt possessive of Carlton.

She could admit that. It wasn't crazy or weird or even unusual.

In the years they'd been partnered, he'd become _hers_ in a way no other man could—not in a romantic sense, but in a—tethered? connected? other half?—sense.

He'd been on dates, and she'd done the same—she'd even had relationships—not to mention Shawn was interested in her.

(She knew that, and wasn't immune to Shawn's peculiar charms, but he didn't know her like Carlton did and she couldn't honestly say there was any real depth to her attraction to him beyond being naturally responsive to an interested and undeniably amusing man who had pretty impressive skills related to her job.)

But Carlton was still somehow _hers_ , and to see him in this new and very personal light was having a funny effect on her brain. Her senses. Her everything.

"Do you want to stop here for dinner?" They were nearly to Santa Maria, and it was well after six.

She said yes, and he took the business road off the main highway. A Chinese restaurant on the right didn't look too busy, so he pulled in there without having said anything else.

While they were waiting to be seated his phone pinged, and he read the screen, then showed it to her.

Volakis had texted: _Barry broke him when she got back. Brand admitted to everything except the chicken._

She laughed. "Ask him why he worked Tuesdays and Thursdays?"

Carlton complied, then showed the answer:

 _Wednesdays and Fridays were his late days at work, so he could sleep in after a hard night's thievery._

"That's practical. How did he pick his victims?"

"What am I, your secretary?" he groused, but typed it anyway.

 _Chatting up customers. Picked up clues about recent purchases, etc._

Then he typed something else, and Juliet leaned in to see the question: _How did Barry break him?_

Volakis' answer, with a smiley face: _She said she'd give him two limps._

"I should not laugh at that," she said while laughing, but Carlton was too.

They were seated in a booth at the side and given menus, and Carlton promptly loosened his tie and then pulled it off completely, settling against the booth back looking weary.

And attractive, she admitted, especially with the top button of his shirt undone, exposing just a skosh of his skin. As she considered this, he ran a hand through his black and silver hair, mussing it slightly, and she knew then that he was agitated as well as weary.

So... he might want to talk after all. Or, worse for his psychological well-being, he might think he was _expected_ to talk.

But she only _hoped_ he would. She'd never ask him to reveal something this personal to her.

The server came and brought ice water and a teapot.

Carlton, who hadn't even looked at the menu, said, "Orange chicken for me. Egg drop soup. Spring rolls. O'Hara?"

He probably already knew, but she said it anyway: "Chicken egg foo yung, wonton soup, and I'll steal one of his spring rolls."

He smiled and poured her a cup of tea after the server trotted off; she took an appreciative sip of the fragrant brew, letting it soothe her after this very long day.

After a bit of fidgeting with his own cup, he said, "So."

Here it came. _Maybe_.

"I, uh... guess I owe you—"

Juliet cut him off. "No."

Carlton held her gaze, startled.

She said nothing else; he would understand her meaning.

"Okay." He sipped the tea. "I don't _owe_ you an explanation. But I want to give you one anyway."

She nodded. "I'll always listen to anything you _choose_ to tell me."

Carlton nodded too, but still hesitated, and she knew why. What he was about to say was something he'd probably never said aloud before. That's if he said what she expected him to say... and was pretty sure she didn't truly want to hear.

"I did have an affair with Barry." His tone was quiet, flat.

 _Okay._

 _Pause to regroup._

She'd _known_ it, which is to say she'd always assumed it to be true but avoided dwelling on it for years, and then had spent today grappling with the reality of The Woman standing in front of her, but until he said the words...

Carlton didn't wait for her mental ramblings to cease. "It lasted a little over a month before Spencer outed us."

 _Okay_. A reasonable comment. That's what she needed to make here, because the blue of his eyes was showing turmoil and regret and uncertainty, and she didn't want to be the cause of any of that.

"How did he figure it out?"

He blinked. "At the time I had no idea. I just knew he wasn't psychic." When she didn't make her usual protest, he went on slowly, "Since then I've thought about everything else going on that day. He was trying to avoid being arrested, and we know from experience that he tends to make half a dozen claims before one of them sticks. His deductive reasoning is spot on, but his common sense is nonexistent. You know, like... sure, a Capuchin monkey _could_ have climbed up to put the chewing gum on the ceiling—but if the crime took place at the IRS and not a petting zoo, it's also damned unlikely."

She had to smile at the analogy, and could see him visibly grow less tense.

"He probably figured out Allen was Ouija-board material by her New-Agey jewelry, and since McNab had been waltzing all over the station for weeks he might have guessed he was about to get married. The guy he pegged in Holding was in the booking area for awhile and Spencer would have had to wait there to talk to us, so maybe he spotted the broken glass on him then." He shrugged. "For me... he might have seen me tug on Barry's ponytail when I walked behind her in Interrogation. If he'd guessed wrong on even one of those things, he could have modified his answers to suit everyone, but he got lucky. He usually does, because everyone wants to believe him."

Juliet didn't completely get the references he was making except for the one about Buzz—Buzz had once told her himself, in awe, that Shawn had "psychically" known about his dance lessons.

"But neither of you ever said anything."

"Not a word," he agreed, shaking his head. "I was still married, and she had too much sense. Did she say anything to you today?"

She couldn't decide whether the question was one of simple curiosity or standard-issue Carlton Lassiter paranoia, so she gave him the benefit of the doubt. "Not really. It was sort of implicit at one point, but she didn't actually spell it out."

He nodded. "That's what I thought. She knew how to be discreet."

"But I don't understand—why would the Chief act on the claim of a guy she didn't even know?"

"Preemptive measure? Or maybe we _were_ giving ourselves away somehow." Carlton sighed. "Barry would have transferred out eventually anyway. Spencer just made sure the affair was _assumed_ to be true, and Vick _had_ to act."

"Which made it seem even more _likely_ to be true," she murmured.

"Yeah, but that could also have been Vick's way of reminding me not to be an arrogant ass."

He stopped talking when the server brought their soup, and they both ate in silence for a few minutes.

She hoped he wasn't finished. Any door into Carlton's private past was a door she wanted propped open, if only for her.

Maybe it was safe to ask another question. "Um... I don't really want you to go into detail, but how did this start?" It was what she'd nearly asked Lucinda before coming to her senses.

Because understanding how he gave up his _control_ was still a mystery to her.

"Can't really explain that." He sounded diffident.

"So it was 'just one of those things'," she said neutrally. Oddly disappointing if true. As if she had a right to judge the _how_ of his affair.

Carlton looked down at his soup for a moment. "No... I mean... Barry was attractive and smart and knew her way around sarcasm. But I don't remember being _attracted_ to her. I was too preoccupied with my never-ending separation and Fenich retiring and Vick being handed the job I thought was mine. I wasn't looking for any other trouble. I liked her but she was just my partner. I can't even say..." He seemed embarrassed. "I can't even say we were friends."

Her spoon was in mid-air. "Then... how...?"

"Hard case closed, drinking afterwards. A _lot_ of drinking. I woke up the next morning in her bedroom and how I got there, I have no idea."

"Ah." She had more soup, lacking any other sensible response.

 _Carlton waking up naked in someone else's bed..._

 _Stop it._

"But once it started, I..." Once more he raked his hand through his hair. "I... do you know you're the only one I could even imagine telling this to?"

Juliet felt a flush of pride, along with that sense of possessiveness from earlier. "I consider that a compliment, partner."

 _Yes, idiot, he's your_ partner _. Your_ partner _, not the object of your sudden fantasy life._

Carlton tried again. "Once it started, it hit me how freaking lonely I'd been since my separation began. Barry gave me something, whether she meant to or not, that I hadn't had in nearly two years: a sense of being... a _man_. A man a smart, pretty woman _wanted_."

With that he returned to his soup, his color high, and Juliet longed to reach over and touch his hand.

There was another pause while the server brought the spring rolls and more tea.

He looked at Juliet, his eyes a steady crystal blue, as if calm was returning. "It wouldn't have lasted. It wasn't supposed to last. It should never have happened at all. Of course I would have preferred it die naturally rather than have Spencer out us to the entire station, but then again, massive screw-ups are never guaranteed a discreet finale. Cheers," he added, lifting his tea cup.

Juliet met the gesture and drank. She wished she could stop time for a little while to properly digest everything he'd said and how she wanted to respond... and how she was feeling about all of it. About him.

But she was no Time Lord, so she gave him something of her own memories. "I'm... pretty embarrassed about telling you I didn't approve of interoffice romance." She knew he'd remember the exact conversation.

Carlton seemed vaguely amused. "Little upstart."

She chuckled. "I was feeling so grown up. I'd heard all this innuendo and I was afraid people would think I'd want to take... shortcuts, if you get my drift. I didn't know _anything_ about her and not much more about you, but I was egotistically determined to nip that in the bud."

"Yeah," he said dryly, "you made that clear."

"And you smacked me down, which I had coming."

"Because you were a little upstart," he said, and this time his amusement was more apparent. "I was furious at the time but I was also embarrassed. And an ass."

"Well, I was an ass too. I went to the Chief a week later and said that while I knew she couldn't confirm or deny anything, and I wasn't asking her to, I wanted her to know I'd heard the rumors and I was concerned about anyone presupposing that sort of thing would happen with me." She still remembered the flash of incredulity on Vick's face, but at the time had convinced herself that she'd misread it.

Carlton's dark brows were up. "Did she cut you?"

Juliet laughed. "For a second I thought she might. You have to understand that I didn't really know how much I looked like a teenager rather than a femme fatale."

His smile was broad. "You were pretty cute, O'Hara."

That made her blush and smirk at the same time—it was unlike him to say something like that, but this wasn't a typical conversation, was it?

"Excuse _me_. I didn't want to be _cute_ ," she said primly. "I thought I was a highly mature woman with training, a kick-ass attitude, and a shiny service weapon. So Vick took pity on me, did _not_ laugh in my face, and said that in the hypothetical situation that the rumors I'd heard were true, she would judge that based on her knowledge of your personal code of ethics, any such rumored behavior on your part would have to be an anomaly, and I should just get my butt back to work."

At first Carlton smiled, but then it faded slowly. "An anomaly," he repeated, musing. "Yeah, for the man I was then."

This puzzled her. "I think it'd be an anomaly for the man you are now, Carlton. You still have that same code of ethics."

"If I were still married, sure. I'd never make that mistake again, although honestly I'll never go through a separation that long again either. But the thing about the man I was then..."

Juliet waited, while his searching blue eyes seemed to scrutinize her. "Yes?"

He let out a sharp breath and sat up straight. "The man I was then... hadn't met you."

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER SIX**

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

Her eyes were huge.

Beautiful too, dark blue, sometimes more blue-gray, but always lovely.

"Don't freak out," he said quickly. "I'm not about to leap across the table and have at you."

 _Although if that were an option..._

 _Focus, man! Focus!_

Her mouth opened and she shook her head slightly.

"Let me just explain it if I can," Carlton began. "You really can relax."

She shook her head again. "Carlton, I—"

The server showed up with their plates, and Juliet seemed frustrated by the interruption, but he had to speak before she shut down what he _needed_ to say to her.

Server gone, having been politely thanked, he picked up his fork—this might be his last meal—but she started, "Carlton, I'm not freaked."

"Your eyes are like saucers," he said plainly. "You're alternating between pale and flushed. You're freaked. It's okay. Just listen."

She was anxious. "It's _not_ okay—I—"

"Juliet."

She froze, and he knew in part it was because he'd allowed himself to call her by name.

"Juliet, listen. If you think what I said means I have feelings for you, you're right. I do."

A little voice in his head commented, _you said it. You actually said it. And you're still breathing_.

Carlton went on evenly, "But you don't have to worry about them. Part of the anomaly factor is..." He searched for the right phrasing. "That I've learned over the last few years to value our friendship and partnership more than..." He had to smile wryly. "Than anything else."

Juliet's hands were trembling, and she moved them to her lap.

"I value _you_ more than anything else."

 _You said that too!_ the voice crowed. _End times!_

How else could he put it, short of saying he loved her, which she was so not ready for and wouldn't be able to get past? "Feelings" was a muted euphemism he could live with.

Her color had faded again, and the trembling seemed to be overtaking her whole body.

He couldn't stop. "Back then, I would have thought it was all or nothing. But over time, over these last few years, I've learned… that people like you can exist in the sorry dysfunctional lives of people like me."

"Carlton," she whispered, those glorious blue eyes misty.

"You are the nicest, loveliest, most well-adjusted person I know." He tried another smile. "That is, who carries a gun and has unexplored anger issues. And if a nice, well-adjusted person like you can see value in _me_ , and stick around for five long years and seem to... be content with that? Then I'm just rolling with it. And I hardly ever roll with things, Juliet, so I know you understand how much I mean this. Okay?"

She seemed frozen again.

But he was out of words, so he speared his chicken and took a bite.

"Carlton, I..."

"No, you can't have the car keys. I'm not walking back home."

That, finally, seemed to relax her a little. She sagged back against the booth. "I don't know what to say," she admitted.

"You don't have to say anything. I wanted you to know what you'd done for me, and now you should eat your dinner."

Glancing down at her plate as if unsure how it got there, she leaned forward again and said earnestly, "I meant, I don't know what to say _first_. I know what to _say_. I just... I..."

"Eat," he said patiently.

He was kind of surprised he hadn't already either burst into flames or melted into goo.

 _You just told the woman you love how you feel._

 _Well, sort of._

It wasn't the _expression_ of feelings so much—he'd been able to tell Victoria and various other women in his long-ago past how he felt; it was that he'd been living with these feelings for Juliet so long, and had been so keenly aware she would never return them, that to speak them aloud was...

Well, hell. He might deserve a medal.

For his coffin.

After she shot him.

Because she would. He just hoped she wouldn't dump his body by the side of the road; he'd hoped for a more dignified ending to his career.

Juliet was staring at him. Trying to figure him out. She nearly always could, though she was often kind enough to keep it to herself.

After a moment she drank some of her tea and bit into a spring roll, but halfway through that she set it down.

"Okay." She took a breath. "Everything you said blew my mind."

He rejected _well, duh_ in favor of, "Yeah, I know. Eat."

"I'm eating. Shut up."

With deliberation, he stuck another piece of chicken in his mouth and chewed vigorously.

Juliet rolled her eyes. "Goober."

Hmm, she might _not_ shoot him.

"What you said," she tried again, "you seem to think is... something I didn't want to hear."

He stopped chewing.

"And that it was unwelcome."

His heart skittered a bit, and he swallowed the chicken before it fought back. "Or icky," he supplied.

This earned him another eye roll.

"I've learned a lot about what's important from you _too_ , you know." Juliet was getting stronger, as if she felt she was on steadier ground now.

Carlton nodded. "Interrogation techniques, how to get the copier to work—"

"Shut up," she said again, no heat but still serious. "You had your say, now I get mine."

"Yeah, but you didn't know what was coming. I _do_ know what's coming, and it's seventy percent likely to be bad."

"Seventy... what?"

Patiently, he explained, "The odds are rarely in my favor."

"But..." she seemed puzzled. "Why would you assume a seventy percent chance of something bad from me when I just told you this wasn't... unwelcome?"

"O'Hara," he said flatly, "between the partnership issue, the age difference, my cranky personality and the fact that I'm not your type, I think assuming a seventy percent chance of rejection is startlingly optimistic of me."

To his surprise, she smiled. "You're right. About you and optimism, anyway." She poured another cup of tea, ate the rest of the spring roll and then leaned in. "Our partnership is incredibly important, but it still has the capacity to be more. Our age difference is immaterial. If I had a problem with your crankiness I'd tell you... and actually I _have_ told you many times. I don't disagree that I'm nice but I'm not a doormat, hence those unexplored anger issues you mentioned. And what is this crap about 'my type'?" She used air quotes to emphasize.

Carlton scowled. "Spencer? Football players? Scott Seaver? Those guys are all your type. Not me."

"We fall for who we fall for, Carlton. I also dated Cameron Luntz, remember? He's a bit like _you_ , wouldn't you say? Hmmm?" Challenging.

He maintained the scowl while thinking _we fall for who we fall for_ sounded scarily promising. "Bite your tongue, woman. Next you'll be saying _Goochberg_ was like me."

Juliet laughed, and suddenly he felt a lot less like he was having the last meal before his execution.

" _You_ can be rehabilitated," she assured him, and finally tried some of her egg foo yung. "Ooh, I should have listened the first time you told me to eat."

He arched one brow. "You should _always_ listen to me the first time I tell you anything."

"Not when you're full of crap," she retorted.

She wasn't wrong, and he didn't hide his smile.

 _But back to the point_ , he reminded himself. This needed to be settled tonight, preferably before the fortune cookies arrived. "Okay, so what are you saying when you're not insulting me?"

"I'm _saying_ ," she said with exaggerated calm, "that I have feelings for you too, dumbass."

Fork in mid-air, he looked at her for awhile, until the chicken fell back to the plate with a _thunk_.

Juliet followed its path, amused, and then met his gaze again.

"Oh."

" _Oh_ ," she mocked.

But, his inner naysayer pointed out, this didn't mean she would want to _act_ on those feelings. His willingness to tell her how he felt, framed with the value he placed on their _partnership_ , might merely be allowing her the freedom to say she felt the same: that the partnership was what mattered.

Not moving _beyond_ it to something more. To everything.

"Oh," he agreed, and re-speared his chicken.

After a bit, she prompted him. "What happened today to make you admit this to me?"

What indeed. It was simple, really.

"The past. Remembering how I was, and how I regretted... not just how things worked out, but that I was in that... _mistake_ for the wrong reason, with the wrong person, at the wrong time."

Juliet nodded as if she understood this.

He wasn't sure he did: from the moment Lucinda walked into the room he'd felt disconnected from reality.

"And you think I'm...?" She left it open, her expression both curious and expectant.

"The right person."

 _Damn. You said something_ else _you never thought you'd say._

Juliet smiled tremulously.

"But reasons and timing aren't mine to control."

The smile became radiant. He hated her a little tiny bit for perhaps a quarter of a second, because when she smiled like that she was utterly irresistible, and this was not the time for her to be irresistible.

Because he just _could_ _not_ trust his heart's yearning on this. He _couldn't_.

The server came back to ask if they needed anything.

 _This woman. Please. No need for a to-go box; I'll just carry her out in my arms._

Juliet's phone buzzed with a text, and he thanked God for the pause.

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

The message was from Chief Vick: _If you're on the way back I assume Lassiter's driving. Progress report?_

She told Carlton it was Vick, and replied: _got the guy! Full report in the a.m. On the way home_.

Bad timing, but then they should have checked in earlier. She put the phone down and returned her full attention to Carlton, who promptly continued as if there'd been no interruption at all.

He looked, as he had for this whole conversation, both resolved and uncertain, mixing _the hell with it_ with _am I crazy?_ , and she really could study his blue eyes _forever_ and never figure out every single nuance.

And right now, he was talking fast.

"Look, you don't need to say another word. You don't need to reassure me or promise me anything or even be... _nice_. I hit you with a lot, but I don't expect anything. Maybe it was a mistake to say it at all, but after today with Barry, I just felt like it was time to lay it out. I'm perfectly happy to go back to work tomorrow and have my partner who I _hope_ is still my friend, and that's good. That's _great_. It's been the best of the last five years and I hope it'll be the best of the next thirty years—unless you get promoted out of Santa Barbara, which you deserve, or maybe you can be Chief when Vick retires or pisses off the mayor, and you can go on with your life, right now, without worrying about me. You can be happy with whomever you choose and I will never be bitter, not as long as you're with someone you really love and who makes you happy."

So much to unpack here, but his eyes... _damn_ , she loved his eyes.

"I admit," he added quietly, "that I'm going to bitch about you getting involved with Spencer, but that's because it's Spencer. You'd be better off with Guster. Or Cameron Luntz, even though he is a know-it-all bastard."

Juliet could not help but smile at such Carltonness. "I can't decide whether to laugh or to throw water in your face to get you to snap out of this. Stop thinking you know what _I'm_ thinking."

He blinked. "Oh, I never know what a woman's thinking. I mean, statistically speaking it's safe to assume if she's thinking about me, it's bad, but usually I don't have a clue."

Juliet did laugh now. "You sound almost cheerful."

"I generally feel safe admitting my faults to you, O'Hara."

She treasured that. He would never understand how much his trust in her meant.

"Carlton, let me be clear. Only put your fork down first; I don't want you to choke."

He obeyed, but snuck in a sip of water.

"You have feelings for me. I am _not_ displeased to hear this. And I have feelings for you, but I have to admit I haven't... let myself think about them too much. It seemed best to let everything just percolate. You know?"

He managed a nod.

It was true: despite her private admissions today while absorbing the Lucinda chapter of his life, and despite a deep-seated certainty that _forward_ was the only way to go with a man like Carlton, she needed to think about everything.

Maybe not a lot. But some.

"It's not going to be simple. We both know that. But I already know it'll be worth it to try."

"I'm..." he hesitated. "I'm still an all-or-nothing guy. It won't be an _experiment_ for me."

Juliet tilted her head. "I understand. I just mean... no one can predict the future, right?"

"I guess not. Fifteen minutes ago, I would have predicted you'd request a transfer as soon as you got to the station in the morning."

"Oh honey, I'm not transferring _anywhere_ so long as there's a chance I could make Chief someday."

He smirked; she loved that too. "You know I'm not taking orders from you."

"You said that once before and you were _quite_ wrong," she reminded him.

"My arm was in a sling. You had me at a disadvantage. Bully."

Juliet grinned, and he grinned back, and this was going to be good. Yes.

"I would be happy to put your arm in a sling again if it would ensure compliance."

"Compliance," he scoffed. "By then I'll be running a ranger station in outer... someplace remote. In Montana."

"Outer someplace remote," she said, laughing. "I don't think so. I think you and I are going to be together a long time, partner."

That much seemed inevitable. Happily, happily inevitable.

Carlton surveyed her awhile, the light in his eyes calmer now, as he settled into what she knew was unfamiliar territory for him: _giving something a chance_.

Perhaps some glue was in order.

"You know me better than anyone else. And while our personalities _are_ very different, as you said, and in many ways I'm exactly the kind of person you would find supremely annoying, _you_ have stuck with _me_ for five years. You can't be nice to McNab unless he's in another _room_ , but you're nice to me all the time, by choice."

"Well, you do have a service weapon," he muttered.

She reached over and put her hand on top of his, smiling. "Shut it."

He turned his hand to clasp hers. "That really makes my point more than yours."

Juliet laughed and squeezed his hand. "Shut it, or you _are_ walking home."

Now his voice was a touch plaintive. "So what are we talking about here?"

Right. Glue.

"We are talking about investigating all these feelings. We are talking about finishing dinner, getting in the car, talking about mundane things like spending time together outside of work and not solving crime. Dating."

"Dating." His eyes widened. "In public."

"Uh, yeah? Don't worry, I clean up nice."

Instant scowl. "Screw that. You're the reason the sun comes up, O'Hara; it can't wait to get a look at you." Then he looked horrified.

Juliet, for her part, was enchanted, and goosebumps skittered across her arms.

 _Oh, he is_ so _the one._

He was blushing madly, and trying to retract his hand, but she held on tight. "O'Hara..."

"Stop. This is going to be okay, Carlton. You are going to be okay. _We_ are going to be okay."

Finally he relaxed, and she let him go.

"Now," she concluded, "we are finishing dinner, and heading home."

It seemed altogether appropriate that the fortune from her cookie read: _Doing the best at this moment puts you in the best place for the next moment_.

But even better than his said: _Don't let the past and useless details choke your existence_.

"Dammit," he complained. "Philosophers. I'd have done better with the one that says 'don't be a dick.'"

 _Yeah, he was the one._

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

It was a month before they kissed.

He'd wanted to kiss her for years, but even after believing there was hope, he wasn't going to rush her.

She initiated it, in the station parking lot after work one night, when no one was around and the moon was high, and he forgot about circumspection because her lips were pressed to his and everything shimmered slightly.

For the next few weeks she kissed him every night at quitting time, and at the close of every date, and perhaps sometimes he kissed her first, but he never doubted he was welcome to do so, and every second of every kiss was more perfection than he'd ever known was possible.

At the two-month mark they became lovers, and he could have sworn he had an out-of-body experience.

At the three month mark—and he barely remembered anything of the previous month which didn't involve magical nights with his Juliet—she said, "We should tell the Chief about us."

"We should?" He felt chilled until she settled him with a look. "I mean, we should."

"The sooner we tell her, the more open-minded she might be about not splitting us up."

He'd been trying to avoid thinking about that possibility; the chance of separation was the one reason keeping their relationship quiet made sense to him.

Juliet smiled at him benignly. "I told you we were going to be together a long time. You might have to marry me to keep us in the same station, but you're up for that if necessary, right?"

Carlton's heart went * _sproing_ *.

"I... yes. Yes, I'm up for that. If _necessary_ ," he amended, getting his mojo back belatedly. "Purely in the name of partnership preservation."

She swatted him with her t-shirt, which he had removed from her warm silky body minutes ago. "You owe me for that."

"I owe you for _everything_." He was a little breathless, but so was she, and they were quiet...ish... for awhile.

In years to come, he gave thought occasionally to Lucinda Barry's role in his life, and how twice she'd led him to Juliet.

After she was killed in the line of duty, he and Juliet both competed in the shooting competition held in her honor.

Later they visited her grave, hand in hand, and he privately gave thanks for the lessons she'd taught him, intentionally or otherwise.

And then he took his wife home and thanked her for the rest of their lives.

 **. . . . . .**

 **. . . . .**

 **. . . .**

 **E N D**

 _A/N: there, Lassieteers. You made me turn a simple story about meeting Lucinda into THIS! Consider yourselves wrist-smacked. ;-) Oh, and_ _ **ace888**_ _? You started this, so I expect to hear from you!_

P.S. Those were real fortunes.


End file.
